


Sweet Revenge

by Trixy_BuenaSuerte



Series: The Thing is, This Won't be Pretty [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Love Triangles, Reader-Insert, Wayne Manor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixy_BuenaSuerte/pseuds/Trixy_BuenaSuerte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>Work Summary:</strong>
</p><p>After a night spent with Bruce Wayne, it's time to answer for your actions.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Series Summary:</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>One man holds your heart in the palm of his crazed hands. Your affection and love is his alone. The fact that he's one of Gotham's most notorious villain matters very little to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The other holds all you've ever wanted in his dependable hands. He's a dream, a fantasy. One you thought would never come true.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But it does, so you soon find yourself in a tug-of-war between Gotham's Crown Prince of Crime and her loyal Savoir, The Dark Knight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now the question is, who will win?</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This won't be based on any particular universe, but a mash up of them. 
> 
>  
> 
> _(Well, mostly a mash up of the Dark Knight and the Batman: Arkham Asylum video game. At least, what I really mean, is that the Joker I'm portraying will be the one from the videogame, not the movie.)_

You stare at the front door to your home while you sit on the stairs across from it. Your elbows are your knees and you hold your chin in your hands as you sit there. You’re just waiting for the doors to burst open or be blow off their hinges. While you wait, you wonder if He’ll help you pay for the damages this time or make you pay out of your dwindling bank account again.

Hey, the doors don’t just fix themselves. No matter what the movies try to make you believe and, thanks to a certain someone, you are now a regular at your local Home Depot. Sighing, you close your eyes just as a small explosion goes off. You’re so accustomed to this that you don’t even flinch or open your eyes as footsteps make their way to you.

You don’t move, don’t tense, don’t breathe when he places a hand softly on your shoulder. Or as the other pushes you hair off your neck and reveals your newly acquired bruise because he knows. I mean, of course he knows.

He’s The Joker for fuck’s sake.

You sigh again as you feel his hand gently wrap around your throat in a loose grip. Though you feel guilty as hell, you can’t bring yourself to apologize. Or even give a half-assed explanation. So instead you tilt your head to the side an expose more of your neck to him. He studies it closely, eyes trailing over each fresh bruise.

His gloved fingers twitch and you snap open your eyes to look up him as he towers over your seated form. There’s a dark look on his face as he looks down at you with narrowed green eyes. Your eyes lock with his. You feel a shiver run down your back just as Harley bursts in through the door, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“You whore,” she screeches, stomping towards you with her fist clenched at her sides. You stare at her, face blank, while she keeps throwing out more insults. She stomps about, cursing up a storm and waving her arms. You’ve never liked her. Hell, you can’t stand the girl. What with the way she likes to drape herself over your man when she thinks you aren’t looking.

“Shut up,” you growl quietly and she turns to look at you with a shocked look on her face because you’ve never been anything but polite to her. Something she clearly takes advantage of.

“Excuse me,” she screams, placing a hand over her heart as her mouth hangs open. You keep your face blank even as you once again growl at her to be quiet. But she doesn’t listen to you. Instead she walks up to you and yells, “You’re nothing but Mr. J’s skank so you don’t get to talk to me like that!”

Your fist’s moving before you’re even aware that you have stood. It collides with her cheek before you even notice you’ve thrown a punch. Her head snaps to the side as she crumples to the floor holding her now bruised cheek. Blood dribbles from the corner of her mouth as you stand over her, glaring at her.

“Get the fuck out off my house,” you snarl but she just sits there, staring stupidly at you. You feel yourself snap and you launch yourself at her. Your only intentions at that moment are to scratch her blue eyes out. Maybe even breaking a few bones here and there but a strong arm warps around your waist, stopping you mid-leap easily.

“Out! Get the fuck out,” you screech struggling against the arms holding you back. She scrambles to her feet and raises her hand. She’s ready to slap you but a look from The Joker over your head has her scampering off, grumbling all the way.

You slump against him and he holds you up when your legs give up on you. You breathe in deeply, trying to calm yourself so you won’t do something else you’ll regret. The smell of gunpowder and gasoline, strangely, helps you relax. Though you can’t help but wonder if you really do regret what you did.

The arm tightening around your waist reminds you that you should but in all honesty you don’t regret it. You can’t bring yourself _to_ regret it because you love him. It shakes you to the core to know that he might love you too.

“Why,” he asks, voice serious, calm, and lacking its usual insane tone while he still holds you against his hard chest. You lower your gaze to your feet. The pain from your nails digging into the palms of your palms distract you from the painful clenching in your heart.

“I love him,” you say, keeping your head down but your voice comes out clear. It sounds confident even as you feel his arm tighten to the point of pain around your waist. You know he’s nodding even though you can’t see him doing it.

“I figured as much,” he says in that same serious voice and your heart clenches harder in your chest as he lets out a frustrated sigh. You hear his hand running through his green hair.  “So where does this leave us?”

Those words freeze you because you honestly don’t know. Sure you love Bruce Wayne but you don’t think you can live without The Joker after everything you two have been through…

To put it simply you’re torn, because you need The Joker like you need air to breathe. You need him at night to hold you tight and scare all the monsters away. To tell you _‘I love you’_ in those weird quirky ways that he does all throughout your day.

But you can’t leave Bruce because he needs you. He needs you so he won’t go into that damn depressed state you found him in. It’s also something else though. Something you can’t tell The Joker because you’re afraid you’ll hurt him.

It’s that fact that you can’t be seen with him.

The fact that you can’t have a normal life with him.

The man is psychotic for haven sakes. He has a list of diagnosed mental illness so long it’ll make your head spin.

But with Bruce you can be normal. You can go out in public together, can go watch a movie together or have a picnic at the park and yet…there’s only a small chance that he loves you back…

You were only supposed to help him, right?

You close your eyes when you feel his arms leave your waist. You don’t move, don’t tense, don’t breath as you hear his footsteps head towards the door and fade away. But you can feel your heart break inside your chest because _you_ need Him…

BATMAN

“Haven’t seen you in a while.”

You jump when you hear someone behind you and hope shines in your eyes. You almost drop the coffee in your hands as you jerk up a little too fast in your haste to see who as approached you. Only for that hope to die a painful death when you see it’s not the person you’re hoping for.

“Oh, Hey, Bruce,” you say, trying to find it in yourself to smile while you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Slowly, so he won’t sense your disappointment, you lower your eyes back to the papers you were reading. “What brings you to Starbucks?” you ask a little nervously while you take a sip of your coffee. All the while, you desperately try to pretend like your hands aren’t shaking terribly.

You haven’t seen Bruce since that day two weeks ago. Secretly, you had hoped to keep it that way for a little while longer. Or at least until you had the Lady balls to look for him yourself. But, no, instead you find yourself face to face with the reason The Joker left you in public. You can’t even blame him because it had all been your fault after all.

The moment He had walked out the door you realized how much of an idiot you had truly been. You loved The Joker. Probably more than you should. Without him your days had been bleak and boring. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. Or pick up the phone to call to him because you wouldn’t be able to take it if he turned you away.

Though you honestly deserved it.

These past two weeks had been hell. But not because Harley Quinn had been making your life a mess like you had thought she would after He left. She hadn’t. You had sort of been counting on it. If only to prove to yourself that The Joker still cared enough that Harley felt the need to make you pay for hurting Mr. J.

The nights had been the worst though, because you had a ridiculously huge phobia of the dark and He wasn’t there to hold you anymore. So you had to deal with all the imaginary monsters by yourself. It left you with days of little to no sleep.

“Just passing by,” he says cheekily as he takes the seat across from you. You can’t help but give him a doubtful look over you cup. You know that’s not the reason he basically stalked you here. Honestly, who wouldn’t notice Bruce Wayne in his expensive tux as he walked amongst a crowd of ordinary people? “Alright, alright, I needed to talk to you,” he says with a chuckle and you sigh as put down your cup with still shaking hands.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Millionaire,” you tease, patiently placing your arms on your lap and leaning back in your seat. Your thoughts run over all the possible things he would ask from you but, of course, nothing prepares you for what he does ask.

“I need you to be my date to my birthday bash tonight,” he says and you freeze, wondering if it truly already is the nineteenth of February and wondering just where the hell Valentine’s Day had gone. The sound of your name pulls from your musing and you sit up straighter in your chair.

“I’d be delighted to, Mr. Wayne,” you say politely with a small nod and stand maybe a little too quickly to gather your things. “Though perhaps it would have been best to tell me with time so I could have had an outfit ready,” you scold lightly when you see slight apprehension on his features as he too notices your rushed movements. “I gotta go and get ready,” you toss over your shoulder as you move towards the door, wanting to just get away for awhile.

“Pick you up at eight then,” he calls after you and you nod back at him before all but running to the door and your car. Happiness and sadness course through you all at once because as much as you really, truly want to go to his party for him, you know that The Joker will show up too just to crash it. Just because you hadn’t seen heads or tails of him in the past two weeks doesn’t mean he’s been quiet.  Bruce Wayne’s been having a prank filled week, mind you.

You can’t help but feel eager to see Him again.

BATMAN

When you finally arrive the party’s in full swing and you suddenly feel a little under dressed in your strapless, floor length, simple black dress. You shuffle nervously in your seat as you wait for Bruce’s chauffeur to open the door for you.

The moment the door opens you’re blinded by flashing lights and have to shield your eyes with your clutch while you grab the offered hand in front of you. The lights seem to grow in number as you step out of Bruce’s flashy sliver car. You have no hope in knowing the model and make of it seeing as you’ve never seen one before.

The paparazzi continue to take pictures as you and Bruce pass by them and you ignore them. The flashing lights are starting to annoy you but you keep your head up high and bite your tongue so you don’t say anything rude. You won’t stand for it though when they start yelling questions at you. So you all but drag Bruce up the stairs to the mansion while he chuckles at your behavior. He knows you hate paparazzi.

As soon as you’re cleared of the annoying paparazzi you’re assaulted by the snobby, arrogant people who have come to wish Bruce a happy birthday. Blurs of faces and mean sneers are all you can remember of the people Bruce has introduced to you so far. Mostly because you have refused to pay attention to others while the look down at you.

“Ah, Bruce, dear, there you are,” you hear as a busty blonde moves towards you. She throws her long pale arms around Bruce in an exaggerated move of friendship. At the sight of Bruce’s confused expression, you bite back a chuckle.

“It’s good to see you too,” he says politely when he pulls back to take a good look at the blonde. You cover your mouth with your gloved hands to hide your smirk when you realize that he really doesn’t remember the extravagant blonde.

 “And who is this,” the blonde asks while she turns her cold calculating gaze to you. This is why you hate events like these. To them you are as poor as the rest of Gotham just because your name doesn’t hold as much weight as theirs. They always look down their pretty long noses at you when you’re around so you prefer not to attend most social gatherings.

Bruce introduces you politely while he leads you forward towards the snobby blonde and you nod your head slightly in greeting. The blonde’s eyes narrow and you feel slightly scared as a smirk crosses her features. She deliberately places a hand on Bruce’s arm.

“Oh, so this is the heir to such a minuscule fortune,” she says before turning her gaze back up to Bruce, a worried expression on her face. “Really now, Bruce, if you couldn’t find a better date you could have called me,” she says as if you’re not there and you tense before turning and storming away.

_‘Stupid, Snobby, Arrogant, Sons of Bitches,’_ you screech in your head as you make your way to the bar. You down one cup of whiskey in one go and reach for another before it’s all the way down.

This is why you hate being of money, because these people see nothing more than that. Money is and forever shall be their whole world. It’s what makes them happy and, sadly, they can’t see past that.

Bruce does though.

“Keep drinking in such a manner and you won’t be on your feet much longer, young one.”

You smile as the calm soothing voice washes over you. The biggest smile you’ve had in a long while is spread across your lips as you turn to the speaker.

“Alfred,” you whisper throwing your arms around him. “How have you been,” you ask while you pull back and you smile again when you see the happy look on his face. He motions for you to follow after him and you do so happily as he leads you to the kitchen. Once there, you lean against one of the cleared counter tops.

“What seems to be the matter, darling?” he asks while he leans on the counter top across from you. You wave your hand dismissively at him with a huff. Sometimes you think Alfred is too kind for his own good. Still, you love the elderly butler more than your own estate butler back home.

“Just the usual, Alfred. Snobby jerks looking down on the much less rich,” you say with a smile. A worried expression covers his features before he brushes it off. He moves to hand you a cup of soda, taking your whiskey from you. “Alfred,” you whine but he just gives you a hard look before pouring the rest of your drink down the sink.

“There, much better now. A lady, such as yourself, should not be drinking,” he says sternly and you give him an exasperated look before pointing towards the still ongoing party full of drinking women. He huffs as he says, “I did say Lady, did I not? Pay them no mind, young one. They know not but the pleasures of money.”

You chuckle and take a sip of your cola before pushing away from the counter.

“Then maybe we should set about enlightening their minds to the world beyond money,” you whisper quietly and look around as if you were afraid someone might hear of your plans. He laughs and you join him before smiling kindly. “Thank you, Alfred, I’ll see you later,” you say, heading towards the door. You really should be getting back to Bruce now. Whether everyone likes it or not, you are his date and should be by his side.

“Wait,” he calls hesitantly after you and you turn to him with wide, curious eyes.

“Yes, Alfred,” you say as you watch him wring his hands nervously in front of him. You’ve never seen Alfred nervous and it scares you slightly so you set your soda down and make your way to him. “What is it?” you ask.

“I just…Thank you, for helping him,” he says softly and you give him a reassuring smile while you pull the elderly butler into another hug.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper just as softly before turning and, picking up your drink, exiting the kitchen so you can join the party.

Your thoughts are elsewhere as you walk through the room while you stare down at your drink, twirling it around in your hands. Does Alfred know exactly what you did? Does he know that you slept with Bruce simply because he said _‘I love you’_? Does he know that you can’t really be with Bruce because your heart longs for another?

You had been stupid and irrational. You see that now that your body ached to be held by Him. Now that your arms craved to wrap around His neck and your hands begged to bury themselves in green hair while your legs screamed to be able to cling to His hips.

You don’t care anymore about him being bat shit crazy as long as he loves you. You no longer care if you can’t have a normal life with children and a white picket fence. Or if you can’t be publicly seen with him. Nobody’s opinion matters to you anymore. They rest of the world could burn in hell for all you cared.

Sure, you loved Bruce once upon a time when you had been a young girl but he was always out of your league. Well, at least until that night two weeks ago and you had stupidly let it get to you. Making you question everything and causing you to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to you. Sure, your heart had leapt for join at the possibility that he may love you back but that’s just what it was, a possibility.

You had promised to help Bruce and you had done that. He is once again on his feet saving the world so what’s holding you back from picking up the phone and dialing that number?

Rejection.

Plain and simple.

You’re afraid that he won’t want you back and he has good reason not to. You had cheated on him, after all. Harley Quinn would probably be more faithful to her precious Mr. J than you were. Or at least she wouldn’t sleep with his arch nemesis.

With a sigh, you lean against the nearby railing and realized that you’ve ascended the stairs to the second floor. After a few moments you, finally, lift your gaze from your cup to roam over the party goers.

The sight that meets your eyes puzzles you because, instead of the merry party making you expected, you see nothing but huddled bodies cowering on the floor. As you gaze below your ears, at last, pick up on the loud and fearful cries of those on the floor and the blast of weapons that go off occasionally.

You carefully let your eyes sweep over the henchmen whilst you try to make out whom they belong to. When your eyes take in their dirty clown masks you relax slightly before freezing up once again.

Where is Bruce?

The thought screams at you and you frantically look around for the birthday boy only to realize that everyone is watching _you._ They’re in disbelief over the fact that you’re still standing and unharmed. You ignore their eyes and continue to search for Bruce. You find him restrained by two of The Joker’s men.  After a moment you recognize them as Alberto and George. They’re The Joker’s strongest men and you recognize them by their unique yellow haired masks with blue painted lips and red rimmed eyes.

They have a nasty streak.

With attitudes to match.

You’d seen it first hand when you had first been brought to The Joker’s Headquarters and a few of the newer members had overstepped their boundaries. You’ll never get the image of George beating the new recruits to a bloody pulp out of your mind. Or the image of Alberto slamming one of them into the wall and breaking both his arms with what seemed to be no effort at all.

Bruce would be lucky to get out of their grasps with his bones still intact.

You continue to watch as they drag the struggling man to where you just realize Harley Quinn‘s standing on one of Bruce’s expensive table. You take in her elegant pink ad purple dress while she twirls her wooden mallet in her hands gracefully before dropping it with a heavy thud at her feet. How had no one noticed her?

Everyone’s eyes flick to her instantly and the cries stop abruptly when Bruce is force to his knees in front of her. You wince when George, the smaller built one of the two, sends a solid and powerful kick to Bruce’s back that propels him to his hands and knees in front of her.

“Well what do we have here?”

Her southern drawl reaches your ears and you tense.

“A pretty boy? Oh, I wonder if Mr. J will let me have some fun with you first this time,” she says as she drops down from the table and circles around Bruce’s still kneeling form. “He always gets to go first,” she continues with a whine in her voice and you have to hold yourself back from rushing down there and slapping the bitch silly.

If she kept going like that, everyone would know Batman’s identity by the end of the night

She continues to circle him for a bit longer while letting her hands brush against his back occasionally. Finally, she stops and lifts her hands towards the ceiling and begins to spin. It’s, oddly enough, graceful as her dress flares out around her before she comes to a stop while facing you and she slowly lowers her hands and curtsies.

You can see her menacing smile from where you stand and you watch as she once again lifts her hands only this time she points her fingers at you as if she’d holding a gun.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she begins while still pointing her fake gun at you just as the crowd lets out a collective gasps.

“ _We are tonight’s entertainment._ ”

The words are whispered into your ear at the same time as Harley says them proudly below while she ‘shoots’ her gun at you and the lights go out.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You're afraid of me," he says. No, states, voice blank, emotionless, as his hand stops inches from your face._
> 
> _"Of course," you agree, voice only just shy of shaking as you lean away from his touch. "Batman's last 'girlfriend' ended up blown to smithereens."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the fact that this chapter was even created when I was so sure it would never come into existence is due to:
> 
> Mostly, to the one liner _'You're afraid of me'_ that came to me literally out of no where, but I could just _see_ happening and just had to write out.
> 
> Partially, to the newest Suicide Squad Trailer _(I'm honestly loving Jared Leto's Joker, so here's to hoping he doesn't fuck it up)_
> 
> A bit, to _'One Dance'_ by Drake. _(Don't ask about that one because I have no idea how that song even fits into the story. Especially since I hate all things Drake. Just know I was listening to it on repeat while I wrote most of this chapter.)_

The room is dim, lit only by the light of a candle. You're on a chair, bound, hands tied behind your back but you still struggle. You refuse to give in even as you know it's a lost cause. 

You're surrounded. There's too many people in the room, all dressed in clown masks. 

_The Joker's Henchmen._

The rope bites into your wrist as you continue to struggle. Those around you crackle, laugh deranged, amused laughs as the see you fight uselessly. 

They soon quiet though. Fall deadly silent as the door to the room your in swings open. It's all quiet, the door hinges don't even squeak as he walks in, authority pouring from him. 

"Leave us."

And they do. 

File out of the room obediently. Like nothing more than well behaved pups instead of dangerous, armed thugs. The door closes just as quietly after them. 

It's just you two then. All alone. You fight the urge to beg and plead for your life as he walks toward you. Takes long strides until he stands in front of you, towering over your seated form.

When his hand rises, you flinch.

"You're afraid of me," he says. No, states, voice blank, emotionless, as his hand reaches for your face. Fingertips, covered in silk, caress your skin. Touch light, soft and everything in you wants to lean forward, to bury yourself in arms you've desperately been missing but you don't.

"Of course," you agree, voice only just shy of shaking as you lean away from his touch. The very real danger he poses to your life clear in this moment as you lock eyes with him. "Batman's last  _'girlfriend'_  ended up blown to smithereens."

You spits the word out like a curse. The lie foul on your tongue because you _aren't_. You're as single as a Pringle and would tell him as much if you didn’t already know he wouldn’t listen.

There’s that look in his eyes, wild and crazed and determined. Vivid green eyes that had once been filled with happiness, adoration, and love are now glazed, cloudy. Shimmering with something you've never seen before but have always known was there, lurking just out of sight.

Insanity.

For all that you love him, this is The Joker. Batman’s archenemy and no sane person would earn the Bat’s attention. And for all that he's managed to hide this part of himself for so long, it's out now.

That hysterical giggle that stars in the nightmares of too many victims to count pours from his lips. Low and almost unnoticed as he pulls away from you. He paces the room then, the giggle background noise and you're a hundred percent sure that he doesn't even know he's doing it. 

At least not it until he throws his head back and crackles as if he's just heard the best joke in the world. 

"You knew, ah" he gasps out between fits of laughter. Hands going to his knees as the force of the laugh robs him of his strength. "You knew who he was too."

For all that he's insane, The Joker is not stupid. 

If he wasn't so obsessed with death and destruction, he could have already done so much more. He's smart, calculating. He has to be to come up with the stunts he does and to pull them off flawlessly. 

'Sides, rigging bombs is not an easy job nor is creating weapons of mass destruction. One has to hold a certain amount of intelligence to accomplish all that without blowing yourself up so it's no wonder that he's been able to put two and two together. 

He knows.

He has for some time and the only reason he hasn’t said anything is because it would ruin all the fun. So you don’t hold back the punch, says the words even though they’re a bold lie because he knows the truth.

He knows who Batman is.

It’s why he has him hold up somewhere. Bound and gag with no hope of getting to them unless he reveals just who he is.

This is a test.

Batman wasn’t able to save Rachel but will he be able to save you?

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell him, trying to get through the insane haze in his eyes even though you know it won’t do any good. The fact that you've already been in this situation before—albeit in a more playful scenarios—helps you keep clam as you relaxe in your bonds.

“I don’t?” he asks, incredulous, as he gives you a doubtful look. "I don't have to teach Batsy what happens when you steal someone else's toy?"

 _"Excuse me?"_ you spit out, eyes blazing with anger. "What the fuck did you just call me?" You ask, voice dropping with venom as you lean towards him. Eyes daring him to say it again. 

"A toy, babe," he saws, voice nonchalant, uncaring as he turns his back to you. He's blatant disregard hurts, stings and your eyes water from not than just anger. "A worn, used up one, but  _my_ toy nonetheless."

His words are contradicting, hurt and make your swell at the same time because he just calls you  _his._

"Don't do this," you plead then, desperately blinking back tears as you look as his retreating back. He's heading towards the door, leaving to go wreak havoc on some other part of Wayne Manor and this is your last chance to stop him. "Please don't leave me."

He pauses at the door, one hand on the doorknob. He holds it in a knuckle-white grip as he stiffens, head slowly turning towards you. 

The look in his eyes is blood chilling. 

"Oh, I'm not gonna leave you," he says, eyes clouded as they lock on you. "I'm just gonna lock you away," he says smile going wide, red lips pulling into his famous Joker smile, "so you'll never escape me again."

A cold chill and silence is all that's left after his words. It's broken though, by the sound of the door slamming shut after him. The door frame shakes from the force of it, you're amazed it doesn't splinter. 

Your heart crashes against your ribs then. Loud enough to break the silence as you peer around the room now that you're alone. You have to get out, have to break free, you know this so you start to plan your escape. 

The wooden desk the candle sits on is your only hope so you scoot towards it. Thankfully this _is_ the Wayne Manor and the seat under you has wheels.

A home office, you rationalize as you turn. Seeing no other way around it, you slam into the desk. Hoping to topple the candle. 

You figure that if you can get the flame to just the right height you can burn the rope on your wrist. The candle does fall over, leaving scorch marks on the beautiful Mahogany but it's still too high, out if reach and you curse as you realize that you'll need to find some other way to get free. 

Preferably before the fire can pick up speed and spread.

You fumble for the draws then, pulling open the ones you can reach. You turn once you get a few open, peering inside them and hoping for something sharp. 

"Come on, come on, come on."

Your prayers are answered in the form of scissors peeking out from under a pile of papers. You turn and reach for them, finger tips grazing them. 

"Please, please," you plead, finger pads slowing inching the scissors within reach until you can slip your fingers through the holes. "Thank you!"

You take things slow now. Fearing dropping them so much that you leave your hands dangling over the open drawer. Once you have the blade of the scissors at the perfect angle you begin to saw just as slowly. 

Patiently. 

The sound of the rope snapping is music to your ears. You can't help the sob of relief that escapes you as you pull your hands free. Some rope is still wrapped around your wrist and you rip it off before turning your attention to the fallen candle.

It's done nothing more than damage the wood, the flame not strong enough to make it catch on fire. You pick it up carefully, taking it with you as you inch towards the door. 

It would be smarter to leave it behind, you know this. You'll have a better chance of escape by blending into the darkness but you can't.

The darkness already pushes in around you, suffocating and looming. Getting rid of the only light, of your only source of comfort won't be a good idea. 

Once at the door, you press your ear against, listening. You know better than to charge in blind so you try to guess at what you might find on the other side. 

"What if he shows up?"

The first voice is rough, worry laced through it as you catch the barest hint of shuffling.

"It's bound to happen," the second says, not worried in least. Experience bleeds through his tone. "Wherever The Boss goes, Batman follows. At this point it's honestly surprising you lot manage to keep getting taken be surprise."

"And you don't?"

"Meh, I'm just glad he sticks to his no killing rule."

You pull away from the door then cursing your luck because they're obviously guarding the door. Grabbing the scissors again, you begin to look for another way out, your only weapon held out at the ready. 

You spot a window across the room but instantly mark it as your last option. Taking a dive from second story is not on your bucket list. There's another door in the room and you head towards it. Praying it's not a closet, you press your ear against it. 

Silence. 

It's both a good and a bad sign. 

You open the door slowly, quietly. The sight that greets you is pitch black, at least until you hold your hand with the candle forward. 

The light washes over wooden floors and furniture. It's recreational room you realize as a couch come into focus. You tread into the room slowly, steps measured, cautious of making any noise.

Drawing attention is not a good idea.

You head towards the only other door in the room and repeat the process of checking what's on the otherside even though you don't know what you're doing. 

You have no masterplan. No grand scheme of how you're going to escape this hell hole. This time, as you lay your ear against the door you don't hear two goons making chitchat as they await the appearance of the Great Bat. 

No.

You hear Gunshots.

Muffled and obviously coming from the first floor where all the other party goers are still being held. You pull away from the door with a curse. Pressing your back against it, you drop to the floor in defeat.

There's nothing you can. 

These are armed tugs, criminals. People who wouldn't think twice of ending you were you stand. Joker's _toy_ or not, they can and will harm you.

If you want to have any chance of making it out of here you're going to need better weapons than a pair of scissors. 

You're going to need a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...I've been going through an angst trip as of late so this has the potential to turn dark. Just, um, you know, fair warning and all.


End file.
